


Keep Moving Forward

by Ranni



Series: Reassembling [4]
Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, MIA Bruce Banner, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Clint Barton, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:31:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9826577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranni/pseuds/Ranni
Summary: Tony, Natasha, and Clint attempt to push past personal demons to find the other Avengers.





	

Tony had gotten Clint and Natasha back. Or at least the version of Clint and Natasha that they were now--he had gotten them back. Now they needed the others.

"No," Natasha said when Tony asked her to contact Steve. She crossed her arms, the picture of stubborn refusal. "Call him yourself."

That was not Tony's first choice, or his fiftieth, for that matter. "Cap and I didn't exactly part best buddies."

Natasha shrugged. "Well he and I parted just fine, so it's not me who needs to do the asking." She threw a dinner roll at Tony, bopping it off his forehead. "If you can't bring yourself to call him on the phone, how are you going to live in the same building with him? Honestly, Stark, I thought you were a genius."

She was right, of course. How could he live beside the man when he still felt such betrayal, such hurt? Time had dulled the feeling, but not removed it. Tony glanced at Clint, who sat at the table with empty eyes. He smiled and spoke more now that Natasha had come, but was still so far away. But here he still was, in Tony's home, trusted him. Clint had forgiven him, and though Tony felt undeserving of any forgiveness he was also not about to push it away when offered.

Tony wanted things to be like before, had wanted that for a long time, but wanting a thing was different than getting it. Now that he had a way to actually find Steve, he wasn't as sure that he wanted to. That he could make the first move, at least, and so he had asked Natasha.

When had he become such a coward? _I flew through a wormhole with a nuke, goddamnit_ , Tony scolded himself. _I can certainly call Capsicle on the phone_. He smirked a little to himself.

"All right," he said finally. "I can set aside my beef with Cap." _Maybe. Probably. "_ Can you set aside yours with Bruce?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "I don't have a problem with Banner," she said archly. "If he wants to bury himself in the remote parts of the world, that's on him. He'd rather hide from his issues than deal with them, than conquer them like we had to."

It rankled Tony to hear her talk that way about Bruce. He thought about defending his friend, but Natasha was smart, she already knew all those arguments. She was angry all the time now, stopped snarling only long enough to hover over Clint, and Tony didn't feel like provoking her any more than he had to. "I've never gotten anywhere," he said instead, "in trying to find him. No whispers of Big Green. No sightings of a helpful science guy. He's air."

"He doesn't want to be found," Natasha agreed, and this time her voice was gentler. "And really--if he doesn't want to be found, then maybe we shouldn't look. Maybe we should just leave him be."

Tony wanted to argue, but couldn't see a way that she was really wrong. "Let him stay gone? Let him just disappear?" he asked, trying the thought out. It felt wrong.

It was Hawkeye who answered, blinking at them in surprise, more animated than Tony had seen in a long while.

"We look for Bruce," Clint said emphatically. "We have to. There's no feeling worse...no feeling worse in the world than being alone. Feeling like you're surrounded by a world full people and no one sees you. That you could be out there with no one wondering where you are or coming to find you, to bring you home. Feeling like you could...just slip away." Clint fell silent for a moment, then continued. "So we search and we make it loud and obvious so he knows we're trying to find him, that we care. We comb the earth for him. We look forever."

Natasha looked away, but put a hand on Clint's, squeezed.

"You've convinced me," Tony said. "We find Bruce." _We look forever_. Tony cleared his throat. "Damn, Barton, when did you start writing emo poetry?"

Clint shrugged, returned his gaze to his plate, full of food he still would not eat. His eyes were sad. "I know a little something about feeling lonely, I guess."

"Me too," Tony said quietly after a moment. "Me too."

 

******

 

They went down to the training room and Natasha kicked his ass. Tony suspected she might still have been working out a little lingering resentment on his back and shoulders. He swung for her and missed, again and again, as she danced around him. He was getting tired.

"Truce?" Tony panted finally, sticking out a hand. To his great relief, she shook it, a ghost of a smile on her face.

"Boooo," Clint jeered from the sidelines. He had an arrow in his hand, spinning it on his palm. He would not do more than hold the bow and arrows Tony had given him, but it was better than before, when he wouldn't even look at them.

Baby steps, Tony thought.

"Booooooooooooo!" Clint groused again, louder. "Now no one wins."

"So what, were you laying bets, Barton?" Tony asked. He rolled his shoulders; he was going to be sore tomorrow.

Clint made a derisive sound. "I always bet on Red," he said sagely, and Natasha slapped the back of his head.

"How about you, then, Mr. One-Man-Army?" Tony asked him with a mock scowl. "Can you take on an American Icon head to head, or would you spend the whole time ninja flipping around, too?

"There would probably be ninja flipping," Clint admitted, but his eyes danced away, looked briefly at Natasha, then back to the arrow.

Tony grinned back. "I'll pass then." It was a kindness really; there was no way Clint could take him on, even exhausted after sparring Natasha. Half a year ago Barton could've mopped the floor with an unarmored Tony gleefully, but he was too weak now. Physically and otherwise.

Clint's tight, cynical smile suggested that he knew it, too.

Natasha went to him, took the arrow from his hand and set it aside. "Come on, let's do some light weights, Lightweight." She was working like hell to get him to something like his former self, pushing constantly, relentlessly.

Tony lifted weights with them for awhile, keeping up a running commentary to fill the silence, not talking about Cap or Bruce, though his mind was on them the entire time. His brain had never had a problem running independently of his mouth.

Natasha did some sort of Pilates and though she frowned and scolded Clint didn't do anything but look out the window.

 

********

 

Finally Tony got tired of his own stalling and sent Steve a message.

Steve answered immediately, as if he had been waiting the whole time.

 

********

 

  
During his lifetime Clint had had many mantras, many words that he repeated in his head, soothing himself when no one else had.

 _Wait_ been the first one. _Wait. Hide. Wait_.

Hide from Dad, who had almost always been angry. Find a small place, preferably high. Wait for Dad to fall asleep or to go out to the bar, for Mom or Barney to start looking for him, to tell him it was safe. Well, as safe as things ever got.

In the orphanage _Wait_ had morphed into _Just get through this_ , which in a way meant the same thing. He had been ten years old and too big, he thought, to cry at night like the little ones, though he had wanted to. He had learned long before that crying didn't make any difference. He laid in the dark and stared at the cracked ceiling for the next eight years listening to others sob and thought _Just get through this_. Get through the night--in the morning nothing would have changed, but at least it wouldn't be dark.

 _Just get through this_ , Clint thought to himself as he shot people for Shield. Get through that moment, make it to the extraction point, get home. Then pretend it never happened. Until the next time.

After awhile Clint had learned to think almost nothing at all when humans were his quarry. He could rely on his training, his wits, to move him through. _Just get through this_ then became the mantra of "after", when he lay in bed and shook and feared he was becoming something unforgivable, monstrous. Someone dark and angry who hurt people on purpose. Just like Dad.

Clint had made himself as strong as he could, trained his body to be quick, lithe. No one would be able to catch him, to hurt him, and if they tried, he could hurt them back. And where fists weren't enough, he had weapons. Guns, his bow, knives, and most importantly, his words, his smile. Clint was as agreeable and affable as he could manage. People didn't hurt you as much when they thought that they cared about you.

 _Keep moving forward._ Phil had taught him that one. Phil had made him feel wanted, like he was important. Coulson had pushed Clint not to just clutch and defend what he had, but to try for more. Pushed him to take college courses, even if he never finished the degree. Gave him a guitar and taught him to play. Encouraged him to date, to have real friends rather than endless superficial, friendly relationships.

 _And when it's hard, when things look bleak,_ Phil would say, _just move forward a little bit. Just the least little bit you can manage. A step. An inch. But keep moving, Clint. Keep moving forward._

That had been enough, for a long time. But eventually the darkness had loomed again, and Clint found himself looking for cracks in the ceiling, waiting for hours to pass. He had long hated his reflection because he looked like his father, the same nose and mouth, the same sandy brown hair. One day he had caught his face in the mirror and realized that now his eyes looked as angry as his father's, as sad as his mother's. And Phil wasn't enough then, nor was his friend Doug, or even Laura.

When he met Natasha, everything had changed. She was strong, stronger than anyone, even stronger than Phil. She had walked away from a lifetime of torture and hurt, and she had done it with her head held high. Natasha didn't inch forward, she charged forward. She was more powerful than Clint and always would be; he would never be able to best her, no matter how hard he trained, how hard he tried. And it should have terrified him, that such a person existed, but instead he had been filled with peace upon knowing her. Because Natasha could overpower anyone, but she wouldn't hurt him. She was all the people that should have protected him, reborn, in one beautiful, deadly body.

After he met Natasha, after they decided to stay together, he became like her--began running forward instead of creeping, and he reached far, grabbed for everything. He married Laura, had a family. Had learned that families didn't hurt one another, didn't leave. And in the times when the darkness from his work crept up and threatened to overwhelm him--then he had Phil and Natasha. He could lean on them as long as he needed and it was okay.

Then Loki came and Phil was dead. Natasha had been there after, and Laura, and even new friends, new brothers, but some of the color had gone out of the world. Just a little bit, but enough that _Keep moving forward_ had crept slowly back into _Just get through this._

He had left the Avengers, retired, and they parted as friends. Clint went home to his family to make them his entire life. Then everything had gone straight to hell. Clint had lost everyone and now was back to looking for safe, quiet spaces in a world that had none left.

"Maybe you should talk to someone," Tony had said one night. He was always worried now. "Someone that isn't me or Natasha. It can help."

But Clint hadn't seen the point when talking wouldn't bring anyone back.

 _Wait_ , Clint thought. He sat on the roof; it was still hard to see the stars. Tony sat beside him, quiet for once. Clint could be here, he could wait for the next thing to happen, but he couldn't put his hand out and reach, couldn't move toward it. Not anymore.

 _Wait_.

  
********

 

Steve was on his way, would be there in a few days.

Tony had the linens in his old apartment changed, food stocked in the pantry. One night Tony had laid sleeplessly in bed, arguing with himself, remembering. Thought of his parents, of Barnes, of Steve. Tony felt the old anger creep back before he was struck by another memory.

A memory of Barton, at Phil's funeral, standing by the man's grave as others yelled at him. Blamed him for the man's death. Natasha storming over, her arms around Clint's shoulders, defending him. Clint's will had been taken, his hands and his skill used as weapons. He had been made to kill many but Natasha still stood fiercely beside him. And Tony had never blamed him, had admired her. It had never even occurred to him at the time to lay blame--he had seen that Clint was Loki's victim as much as any of the dead.

The parallels between Clint and Bucky, Steve and Natasha, were a little too on the nose for Tony to ignore, even though he wanted to. Even though it hurt, and maybe always would, Tony was done being the one by the grave, the one that yelled, that blamed.

He gave up on sleep then and went to Steve's waiting apartment. He hung the Captain America shield over the fireplace, where it would be seen right away. Then he went up to the roof and sat silently with Clint the rest of the night.

  
*******

 

Steve Rogers returned to the Tower.

The sight of Cap of standing there felt so heartbreakingly familiar and _right_ that Natasha had gone to him immediately, wordlessly, and wrapped her arms around him. Steve was a good man, he was the best of them, and seeing him now was a balm to a wound she thought had healed long before.

Natasha had been surprised, and overjoyed, when Clint quietly came over and joined the embrace, arms around them both. Steve said something too low for her to hear, and Clint murmured something in response.

Only Tony had hung back, and Natasha understood. But when the three others finally broke apart he went to Steve, shook his hand. They talked a little, of things that did not hurt anyone.

Later, in Steve's apartment, they all gazed at the shield on the mantle. Clint looked thoughtful. Natasha was proud of Tony and nodded approvingly at him. His dark eyes were guarded, uncharacteristically unsure, but also more than a little hopeful.

Steve touched the shield with his fingertips and then smiled at Tony.

An apology given and accepted.

Natasha thought of Tony and Steve, their hands clasped again in friendship. The Captain America shield on wall. Her arm snaked through Clint's.

It felt right.

She wondered if she could be as brave, as accepting, when they found Bruce, if they ever did. Wondered if she could forgive him for breaking her heart.

And watching Tony smile at Steve, the shine of tears in his eyes...for the first time Natasha thought that maybe she could.

  
******

 

Tony changed every spotlight on the Tower to shine green. He started science scholarships in Bruce Banner's name. Funded doctors to vaccinate children in the Third World. Gave interviews and said that his friends were his true armor.

Natasha and Clint cast nets online, called old contacts, followed leads. Clint seemed more alive, working toward a goal. Natasha wove a plea into every message she wrote. _Come back, Bruce._

Steve didn't really have any new ideas on how to find their friend, so he supported and encouraged the others. He was quietly confident that Bruce would return.  
  
In every way they knew how they called to him. For months they called.

And finally, Bruce answered.

 

*******

 

It wasn't alright, not yet, but they were getting closer.

Stark Tower was not empty anymore. They slowly became comfortable with one another again, as they navigated and discovered who the others had changed into. Who they were today. It was work, but none of them had ever been afraid of hard work, had ever shied away from a challenge.

The day Bruce came back Clint shot his bow and arrow for the first time in more than a year. He was still not at top form; the draw weight on the bow was as low as it went, but when she had seen him move into his archer's stance Natasha had cried a little. He hit the bullseye with ease. He seemed content. Looked happy, even.

Natasha still felt a little uneasy around Bruce, and maybe always would. She had made herself vulnerable to him and he had hurt her. The fact that it had not been malicious, that his actions had actually been borne out of love, out of a desire to protect them all, made it only a little less painful.

"Can we do it?" she asked Clint one night. "Can we really bring ourselves to trust them again?"

"We have to," he answered back. "You and I have lost so much, Nat, lost so many loved ones, so many friends. How amazing is it...how utterly amazing is it to actually have the chance to get some of them back?"

Natasha kissed his cheek. "You always did think the best of people," she said.

"Well...yeah." Clint smiled at her, and it was his old grin, the one she had known and loved so long. "Giving people second chances is kind of my thing."

 

***********

 

Only one person was missing, and Tony's plan to find him had been a surprisingly simple one. He sent a text message to Jane Foster, the only person who knew how to contact Thor.

"What will we say?" Bruce asked. But that was easy, there was only one thing _to_ say, the only thing Thor would want to hear from them.

AVENGERS ASSEMBLED

 

********

 Thunder rumbled in the sky.

 

 


End file.
